


Distracted

by she_elf4



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Male Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, pure obsessive OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_elf4/pseuds/she_elf4
Summary: Based on a tumbler prompt. Vader notices his favorite admiral is distracted by amorous thoughts of him, with worrying results. What should he do about it? Slash warning.





	Distracted

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt made by the Tumbler Pieder group. I have it posted on Fanfiction.net as part of a one-shot series, but I decided to post it here as well since this site has a bigger fanbase for Piett/Vader.

Vader was distracted. The object of his distraction, Admiral Piett, was himself distracted as he walked bruskly onto the bridge. Even without entering his mind, Vader could tell Piett was rather strongly aroused. That in itself wasn't so unusual; it happened to all the men from time to time. Vader mostly tuned it out. But Piett's had been growing for several days. Ever since Vader had allowed Piett to see him unmasked, Piett had existed in a state of near-constant arousal. Needless to say, Vader's plan to rid Piett of his infatuation with Vader had backfired. 

Vader watched Piett walk to each station, taking reports and giving instructions, finally settling next to the right pit crew. He was just as quietly efficient as ever. Vader normally liked working with Piett, since Piett was one of the few officers who wasn't constantly wishing Vader gone whenever he was around. But this situation was getting out of hand.

Vader walked over and stopped next to Piett, not too far from his customary hyperspace-watching spot. Piett's arousal rose sharply as he assumed not-quite-perfect military grade posture. It was a good thing their uniforms were designed as they were, Vader vaguely noted, as it made it a lot easier to hide an erection, much like Vader's codpiece did. Piett's arousal was starting to make Vader feel aroused, more aroused than he'd felt in years. Vader really ought to just tune it out, like he always did.

Underneath that current of arousal, however, Piett's emotional state had steadily declined. It had started the moment Vader had put his helmet back on; there had been a moment of wonder-filled awe, then Piett had been filled with self-disgust and self-disapproval. Those emotions had risen along with his arousal. Now they were tinged with self-loathing and a hint of death. This last one filled Vader's blood with ice; Piett was one of the best men he'd ever known. For the first time since Obi-Wan's betrayal and Padme's death, Vader found himself trusting someone. Piett had proven himself worthy of that trust. But the man had an annoying and worrying habit of thinking too little of himself. Vader feared that just tuning this problem out and ignoring it would lead to Piett's death. Vader couldn't allow that to happen. No matter what Piett thought, Vader knew he deserved better than that. (He also deserved better than Vader, but there was no accounting for taste.) Vader couldn't afford to ignore it anymore; he would have to act.

It had been 4, 5, 6 years since Piett had had an obsession this bad, he thought, counting the years on his fingers as he rushed onto the bridge. Most of the time, his obsessions were fairly manageable when he was around Lord Vader. His Lordship's respirator provided a constant distraction and even a smokescreen to hide Piett's strange, broken thoughts. He had been extremely surprised to find that working in close proximity to Lord Vader helped with this. (There's a 63 percent chance Lord Vader's genitals are as scarred as the back of his head, the thought suddenly fired off. You're a fucking whore, he told himself.) Counting Vader's respirator was a very welcome distraction (37, 38, 39...) from his obsessive thoughts. (My distraction is going to kill us all, he suddenly thought.) It's been 4, 5, 6 years since I've had an obsession this bad, he thought again, counting again. (I should probably commit suicide and save Lord Vader the trouble of strangling me since my distraction is going to kill us all. 55, 56, 57...I'm a fucking coward. )

Trying to focus on his work, Piett made his usual rounds to each station, getting the morning status report and giving brief instruction when necessary. This morbid slew of thoughts had been causing a maelstrom in his brain for days, ever since he'd seen Lord Vader without a mask. (There's a 63 percent chance Vader's genitals are as scarred as the back of his head. Fucking whore.) Piett couldn't even imagine the pain Lord Vader had endured getting those scars. Someone that strong and brave was far above Piett's lowly self (fucking coward, he thought.) (There's a 63 percent chance Lord Vader's genitals are as scarred as the back of his head. Fucking whore.) Now, for the past week, it was all he could think about. (83, 84, 85...) His distractions were going to cause mistakes, and get people killed. He should just kill himself, and save Lord Vader the trouble. Lord Vader would probably appreciate that.

This had occurred to Piett this morning, when it became too obvious to ignore that his new obsession was going to last a while. (It's been 4, 5, 6 years since I've had an obsession this bad.) He finally settled next to the right pit crew after giving them their instructions for the morning. The worst part about it was, Lord Vader was part of it, so the counting didn't work. (101, 102, 103...) Piett just thought of His Lordship even more, which brought to mind the fact that there was a 63 percent chance that Lord Vader's genitals were as scarred as the back of his head. Constantly thinking about his crush's genitals was doing horrible things to Piett's libido (fucking whore), making it even harder to concentrate. It was a miracle he hadn't already made a mistake that had killed them all. (I should have already killed myself, saved Lord Vader the trouble. Lord Vader would want me to.) It had been 4, 5, 6 years since he'd had an obsession this bad, and he couldn't even stop thinking THAT or stop himself from counting on his fingers over and over again. (121, 122, 123...) Why couldn't Piett just have an innocent crush without his stupid broken brain ruining everything?

Suddenly, Lord Vader stopped right beside Piett, a whole 4 1/2 feet away from where he usually stood to watch hyperspace. (135, 136, 137...) Piett was sure his poor posture was noticed, but if he stood at proper military stance, his growing erection would have been way too obvious. (Fucking whore.) A hopefully not-too-obvious side glance told Piett that Lord Vader looked like he always did; except, wasn't his Lordship's codpiece usually a bit flatter? (In that case, there's only a 46 percent chance Lord Vader's genitals are as scarred as the back of his head. Stupid fucking whore, Piett, he reproached himself.) 152, 153, 154... but was no use. Lord Vader's protruding codpiece and maybe-scarred genitals were all Piett could think about. He wouldn't mind being force-strangled here and now, he'd be saved the embarrassment. He idly wondered if Sith lords ever used the force to jerk off. (You FUCKING whore.) At this point, it seemed prudent to fold his hands in front of his trousers, since no amount of weird posture in the world would hide this massive erection. (170, 171, 172...) 

"Admiral, accompany me to my conference room. The rest of you, I expect no interruptions," Lord Vader barked out. He stalked out of the room, Piett close behind. And wasn't THIS the worst Walk of Shame in history? Everyone was staring at Piett with a mix of horror and pity, he didn't even get to Get Off first, and Lord Vader was apparently taking special care to strangle him. (I'm such a coward.) He really should have killed himself this morning, when the thought first occurred, and saved them all the trouble. (185, 186, 187...) It had been 4, 5, 6 years since he'd had an obsession this bad. Why now?

As Vader closed and locked the door to the conference room, he wondered how he should approach the problem. Should he be blunt? The primary problem was Piett's sudden suicidal feelings, which seemed to be fueled by his attraction to Vader. But Vader didn't understand how or why, and didn't really know how to fix it. He turned around and there Piett stood awkwardly by the table with his hands clasped in front, radiating anxiety, self-loathing, a desire to die, and still a ridiculous amount of arousal, somehow still thinking about numbers, as usual. Finally Vader said, "I am not losing my most loyal man to something as foolish as a crush, so you are going to deal with it right now. Do you want to do it yourself, or would you care for some help?"

Piett gave a humorless laugh. "If it were that easy, I would have dealt with it a long time ago. But I have obsessive-compulsive disorder. When stupid, random thoughts occur to me, they don't just disappear like they do for most people. They stay in my brain for weeks, sometimes months, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"What kind of thoughts? I never see anything in your mind but counting and battles."

"Because you don't look beyond the surface." Piett was reluctant to say more, but Lord Vader had asked. He scrubbed his face with his hands. "You see me counting your respirator breaths, 209 since I got to the bridge by the way, and you don't intrude any further. You don't see me thinking about the fact that there's a 46 percent chance that your genitals are as scarred as the back of your head, or how much of a whore that makes me, or about how my distraction will end up killing all of us, or how much of a coward I am for not getting rid of the source of the problem myself." Piett paused with a sigh, turning so his back was not quite to Vader. "I really should have killed myself this morning when the thought first occurred, and I wish you would get it over with and strangle me already. I'm so tired." 

Vader felt his anger rise at Piett's request. He put his hands on his hips. "You seem to have managed so far in your life," he barked out. 

"It isn't always this bad. I haven't had an obsession this bad in 4, 5, 6 years," Piett replied, counting on his fingers yet again. He turned to face Vader again. "But then I saw your scars, and that stupid thought got stuck in my broken brain, and I'm so...BOTHERED by it I can't think straight, and my distraction is going to get people killed, and I wish you'd just strangle me now and save everyone the trouble." (I just want to die, he thought.) Shame churned in his gut. He could feel his eyes stinging.

Vader felt his anger rise to a dangerous level. "Or I could keep you from thinking ANYTHING for the rest of your shift," he purred.

Piett snorted under his breath, for once not noticing Vader's rising temper. "Yea fucking right, I'd damn well like to see you try," he muttered in Huttese. 

"I'm taking that as an invitation," Vader deadpanned in Huttese. (Piett had just enough time to think, kriffing hell.) Piett gasped as a force tendril started stroking his genitals.

There were 266 steps between the bridge and Piett's quarters. But for once, Piett wasn't counting them. He wasn't thinking about much of anything, for the first time since his last fencing lesson with Tarkin. True to his word, Vader had kept his force attack up for the rest of his shift, 7 hours and 13 minutes. If Piett had had any room to think about anything except the excruciating pleasure coursing through him, he would have been rather embarrassed at the number of times he'd come on the bridge. (Thank heavens the uniform tunic comes this low, he thought. The damp spot doesn't really show.) 

"Hey, Fir!" He heard Veers call out. Piett looked back and saw Veers jogging to catch up to him. "Heard you had a hard day on the bridge."

"Yes, you could say that." (Literally, in fact, Piett thought.) They moved on, walking side by side. "It was kind of tense." He felt unusually relaxed now, though. He was a little surprised that Veers hadn't commented on the less-than-pristine state of his uniform.

"Sorry to hear that. Need a drink?" Veers asked.

"A shower and then bed, I think," Piett replied. "Don't even have the energy for dinner." 

"I could drop it by later," Veers said.

"No thank you. If I get too hungry, I can go down to the officer's club," Piett said.

"Well, suit yourself." At this point, they had arrived at the hallway their quarters were in. "Have a good night."

"Good night," Piett replied, turning towards his room. He had no idea which step number he was on. He went in and flung himself down on his bed. He'd get up and take that shower in just a minute...


End file.
